


Stiles Stilinski - Flirt Master

by Nyanko



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Rambling, i don't even know what this is, pretty sure this could be considered word vomit, wrong phone numbers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 06:48:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5280806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyanko/pseuds/Nyanko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yeah, sorry about that. It’s me again! Bet you didn’t expect to hear from me so soon. Seems like the girl I was flirting with was even less into me than I thought and probably to get rid of me she wrote down your number instead of her own. But, you know, she seemed nice. I’m pretty sure she even flirted back. I don’t think I’m that oblivious, not even realizing I was coming on too strong. More like, she was the one that started it! Maybe not. But still, she offered to give me her number. Didn’t even hesitate while writing! I would never pressure anyone, really. But.. yeah, sorry, I’m rambling. Sorry for calling you twice. I don’t know whose luck is worse: yours or mine.” </p><p>(Or: Stiles can't score a girl's phone number, but maybe all's well that ends well.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stiles Stilinski - Flirt Master

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tomopi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomopi/gifts).



> I haven't written anything more than a drabble in years (though I guess this is pretty much still a drabble). I haven't posted anything in years and never on AO3. I don't even know what this is. So everyone might be super ooc, I don't know. I hope I do the characters justice because, even though Teen Wolf annoys me most of the time, I love Stiles (who doesn't?) and I hope I didn't butcher his characterization... too much.

„This is Derek Hale.“

„Oh, sorry! I must have typed in the wrong number! Sorry to bother you. Have a nice day.” Stiles looked down at the napkin he was holding on to like his life depended on it. Well, maybe only his sex life. He hadn’t been on a date in at least a year, and the last one was nothing to write home about. He shook his head, deciding not to dwell on his meager dating history and taking extra care to type the exact numbers from the napkin into his phone. His thumb hovered over the call button, wondering if maybe this was too soon. Maybe getting a wrong number the first time was a sign to slow down and not call the girl right after she left the coffee shop.

Then he shook his head. _You snooze, you lose_ , he told himself and pressed call before he could reconsider.

“This is Derek Hale,” said the same gruff voice from before. Stiles blinked and slowly lowered the phone to look at the number he had called, then at the napkin. No, he had definitely gotten it right. Her handwriting was neat, no way to mistake the numbers. He faintly heard another “hello” coming from his phone, the guy clearly annoyed.

“Yeah, sorry about that. It’s me again! Bet you didn’t expect to hear from me so soon. Seems like the girl I was flirting with was even less into me than I thought and probably to get rid of me she wrote down your number instead of her own. But, you know, she seemed nice. I’m pretty sure she even flirted back. I don’t think I’m that oblivious, not even realizing I was coming on too strong. More like, she was the one that started it! Maybe not. But still, she offered to give me her number. Didn’t even hesitate while writing! I would never pressure anyone, really. But.. yeah, sorry, I’m rambling. Sorry for calling you twice. I don’t know whose luck is worse: yours or mine.” Stiles trailed off then, not sure what to do now. 

Obviously, he should hang up now. That’s what people do when they call the wrong number. They don’t ramble about their shitty luck unless they call one of those hotlines that are actually there for people to complain and get help and stuff. But Stiles hadn’t called a hotline. He called a girl he thought might be interested in him. Hanging up now felt too much like acknowledging no one wanted him. He doesn’t know if he’s ready for that.

He didn’t expect anything from the mysterious guy on the phone. Well, not mysterious, since he had actually answered the phone with his full name, so he knew at least that. Well, he knew it started with a D. Darren or something. He wasn’t actually paying attention with the whole getting his ego crushed thing.

“Sorry, I guess.” Stiles’ eyes widened. Great, he not only bothered this perfectly nice guy, but he also made him pity him. Stiles was about to sass him, or say something funny, or deflect or do _something_ , but Darren had already hung up on him.

With a heavy sigh, Stiles walked over to the trash can to do away with the cause of his embarrassment and proof of his undesirability (read: the napkin) and then slouched down on the couch. The blatant rejection warranted a boys’ night out, he supposed. But the thought of picking his cell up again to call Scott – because he didn’t have anyone else to call and wow, his ego is really getting sucker-punched today – made him feel kind of nauseated. At least he had Netflix to keep him company: watching the Princess Bride for the umpteenth was always a good idea. 

____________________________________

When a few days later Stiles walked into his favorite coffee shop again, he wondered if the taste of their famous latte would be overpowered by the taste of humiliation. Because there in the corner, at his favorite table, sat the pretty blonde that had _not_ given him her number the last time, looking stunning with her painted red lips and wearing a leather jacket. Not only that, but this time she was accompanied by a gorgeous dude with muscles and a five o’clock shadow accentuating his chiseled jawline and also rocking a leather jacket. So not only an asshole, but an asshole in a relationship. (Not that Stiles thought she had to give him her number or anything, but still, giving him a fake number on her own volition was a pretty dick move.)

Erica – if that was even her real name, who knew – spotted him standing around, deliberating whether to just come back later or facing certain doom, and actually waved at him. Confused, Stiles looked around to see if there was someone standing behind him, but no, apparently she was actually trying to rub in his face how much of a loser he was to think she would be interested in him. Which, to his defense, shouldn’t be _that_ unlikely. He’d been called cute before, in a geeky way, and he’d started exercising in hopes of getting a handle on his ADHD so he was at least fit, if not as buff and rugged looking as her boyfriend. 

“Stiles, don’t ignore me and come over here,” Erica called, not exactly threateningly, but Stiles was pretty sure she’d drag him by the nuts if he didn’t do what she said. Her smile was too much teeth to be considered friendly.

Reluctantly, Stiles made his way over to the table and geez, what if she had her boyfriend beat him up. He’d be up for (haha, get it?) being held down by those strong arms in bed, but being pushed against a wall or something in a nonsexual context didn’t seem like too much fun right now. Though the guy looked like a teddy compared to Erica. Her nails looked like they could double as claws, if need be. But he really really really hadn’t done anything that warranted mauling, he _thinks_ , trying to remember if he had been offensive in a way that warranted being an asshole _and_ beating him up.

The few seconds it took to get from the counter to the table could be considered the most frightening seconds of his life, but then he remembered that he actually got mud on Lydia’s dress with his bicycle back in elementary school and well, that calmed him down pretty fast, so he managed a bright smile, called “Erica, good to see you” in an exuberant voice and plonked down on the chair that might as well have been left open for him, sitting with his back to the counter.

Erica smirked, nudged her boyfriend – who was scowling at her, or at Stiles, or the whole world – and stood up. Stiles braced himself, expecting the worst.  
“Stiles, this is my friend Derek. Derek, this is Stiles. I’m sure you’ll get along splendidly because Derek hasn’t gotten laid in forever and you like comic books so you’re awesome. See you around, Stiles. Hope you didn’t throw away that number I gave you.” She winked at Stiles, and then directing her attention back to her friend(?) said, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” And then she was gone and even Stiles, who was known for jumping from topic to topic at lightning speeds had no idea what just happened. By the time he gathered his wits, Erica was already out the door and waving at them from outside.

Shuffling on the other side of the table brought him back to the situation and damn, if someone that good-looking wasn’t getting laid, was there even a chance for the mere mortals? Because Derek was hot like burning, with this dark hair and gorgeous hazel eyes and bad boy look. The black shirt he wore under the jacket did nothing to hide his toned pecs and Stiles had a strong urge to just lick that guy all over. 10/10 would bang, no doubt about that. He couldn’t even muster up the strength to get mad at Erica, because sure, he apparently didn’t have a chance with her, but if she was willing to set him up with _that_ , really, no hard feelings.

Then something she said (finally) registered in his brain and he did a double take at tall, dark and handsome. 

“You’re that Derek… something! Remember, I called you a couple of days ago, lamenting my sad existence and stuff. At least, I think? Because if you’re not I guess it’d be pretty embarrassing to admit I complained to a random dude I called because of a wrong number. Or not wrong number, depending on if Erica was trying to set us up all along and damn man, that kind of stings, to think I must have come across as super desperate that she thought you’d finally get some with me. Not that I’d complain because dude, you’re hot stuff and-“

A dark look made him stop mid-sentence. Or mid-ramble. Whatever. And that look was more eyebrow than anything else. Those were definitely the most expressive eyebrows in the history of eyebrows. Was there a history of eyebrows? There should. Stiles wondered if he’d just discovered a whole new world of science, when Derek opened his mouth and god, he had bunny teeth. How adorable was that? Eyebrows, stubble and bunny teeth. Stiles had found his new poison. If he could get the guy to stick around at least.

“Yeah,” was all that came out of that pretty mouth, with a side of angry eyebrows communicating the awkwardness of the situation in a way that Stiles could not have said better. He nodded solemnly, then wondered if he’d maybe had too much coffee today already, since he felt kind of giddy and unfocused. He took a deep breath and ran a nervous hand through his disheveled bed head.  
“Sorry, let’s do that again. I promise I’m not always that awkward. I do tend to ramble though when I’m nervous and to be honest, I was expecting to get beat up, so I’m still running on adrenaline, I think. I’m Stiles. Stilinski. Nice to meet you.” Stiles tried to smile encouragingly and held out his hand over the table.

Derek sighed the sigh of the eternally suffering, before shaking Stiles’ hand. “Derek Hale. Pleasure.” 

Feeling the awkwardness of the situation creep up on them after a minute of silence, Stiles began rambling again, about concrete topics like the weather (super shitty, but at least it wasn’t supposed to rain today thank fuck because Stiles always forget to take an umbrella with him) and books (nope, the classics are not necessarily better just because they have “artistic value”) and anything that came to mind. Aside from an errant grunt here or there, Stiles discovered that Derek actually could communicate with words, even if he still relied heavily on silent conversation (though those eyebrows are practically screaming, let’s be honest here). Stiles wondered why Derek actually stuck around at all, but hey, he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

And when they separated two hours later, and Derek wrote his number on a napkin for Stiles with red ears and a shaky hand, Stiles could believe that for whatever reason hotness personified was actually interested in him. He did _not_ dig through his trash that night to check if the number was correct. He did, however, check his call history to make sure. But when he did and then called Derek just to be 100% sure – hey, he could have gotten a new cell phone or something – and Derek’s gruff voice answered… well, Stiles couldn’t keep the grin off his face the rest of the night. 

He did get Erica’s number later on and thanked her profusely for being a bitch and the absolute worst at setting people up and recommended, for the good of society, she never try that again. But hell, it worked, so Stiles wasn’t complaining too much. 

“But Erica, your fans are dying to know. How did you know I was bi? I’m pretty sure I was pretty dedicated to flirting with you at the time,” Stiles mused, holding Derek’s hand under the table during their first friends-meeting-each-other dinner. 

“Please, how could I not tell?" She pushed her blonde curls over her shoulder and raised her eyebrows in a mocking way. But Stiles was _dating_ Derek now, so he was immune to that form of judgment. "No straight guy uses moisturizer for their skin, but doesn’t brush their hair. Clear as day. The fact that we were discussing the ideal male body type and you almost started salivating when talking about abs might have helped with that,” Erica continued and snorted at the end, and Derek rolled his eyes.

Well, couldn’t argue with that logic.


End file.
